


The Screams Behind the Shadows

by Distracted



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distracted/pseuds/Distracted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 'The Saint of Last Resorts.' The trio throw themselves into a case to forget what happened in Mexico. It takes them to the backwoods of Michigan and pits them against an evil so overwhelming, they might not survive it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Screams Behind the Shadows  


Chapter One

He looked so damn broken laying there. The light from the hallway spilled in behind her, highlighting the bruises marching across his bare back. One arm was jammed beneath the pillow under his head. The other stretched across the mattress like he was reaching for something. Sweat plastered his hair to his head.  


A glass stood on the bedside table, still filled with Scotch. She eased into the room and picked it up, downing it before she gave herself chance to think about it. It went through her like a bolt of lightning. Slow warmth rolled through her. 

“Burns, doesn’t it?” he drawled. 

She put the glass back down with a distinct click. “How do you feel?” she asked and studied him, taking in the clammy pallor of his skin, the shadows below his eyes, the sheer exhaustion that was so very evident now that she’d learned to read him.

“Pour us another love, will ya?” He eased onto his side, then sat, slumping back against the headboard. A sudden chill hit him and he reached for the blanket, drawing it over his aching body. _How do I bloody feel?_ He thought sourly. _Like I’ve been ridden hard and put up wet._ “I’ve had better mornings.”  


“It’s five o clock at night.” She refilled the glass and held it out to him. 

“Like I said, I’ve had better mornings,” he said and reached for the glass, not quite managing to hide the tremor in his hands. The second mouthful hit his stomach before he realised what a big mistake he was making. Spit flooded his mouth as his stomach rolled. He let the glass drop and closed his eyes, focusing on not puking all over himself. 

Cool hands grabbed his arm and he flinched, jerking away. The nausea eased, then redoubled. The hands vanished for a second, then one returned, pressing something into his fists. He latched onto it automatically, realising it was a bowl just as he lost the battle with his stomach. It was mostly dry heaves, but he lost the Scotch he’d just swallowed. It burned just as much on the way back up. 

“John!” Zed’s voice finally made it through the buzzing in his skull. 

_Wouldn’t that be bloody typical,_ he thought fuzzily. _I survive being possessed by a demon and it’s the bloody smack that does me in._

She shook him lightly. The movement set off the nausea again. He retched, bringing up nothing but bile. _I should have got them to kill me. Hell couldn’t be worse than this._ The spasm faded, leaving him shaking and spent, leaning on the headboard for support. His head throbbed like someone was beating it with a ball peen hammer, and the rest of his body wasn’t much better. His usual cocky confidence had gone, chased away by sheer bloody exhaustion and the pain that was gnawing at his joints. 

“What’s going on, John?” Zed asked. “Is this from the demon?”

He wasn’t sure how much of it was withdrawal and how much of it was from being a hellspawn’s finger puppet. Human bodies just weren’t designed to be used as living taxis for major demons. Add in the beating he’d received at the hands of the gang, and it was a clusterfuck of misery.

“I thought the demon healed you?” she continued. 

“Just what was likely to kill me.” He sighed. “This isn’t likely to kill me, love.” He cracked an eye open and looked at her. “Much as I want bloody want it to.”  


The bed shifted under her weight as she sat down, back to him. Her shoulders were stiff, and he could see faint movement as she toyed with one of her rings. “I had a friend when I was fifteen. She liked to party, got in with a bad crowd.” She paused, and he waited, content to let her find the words. “Two days before my sixteenth birthday, she overdosed and died. I won’t go through that again. I can’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere, love,” he promised. Now that the nausea had passed, all he wanted to do was sleep again, but something was prodding him to stay awake. “What was her name?”

Zed turned and looked at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Anna.”

“I saw it all around me when I was growing up. Kids had nothing to do, so they’d dabble. Soft stuff, mostly, but the hard stuff was there if you knew who to ask.” He swiped his hand under his nose and sniffed hard. “Drugs are a great escape. So was magic, for me.” 

“Until it wasn’t?” she ventured. 

“Until I fucked up,” he said bluntly. “I’ll pay for that, down the line. Maybe this is just the start of me paying.”

The chills were getting to him again. He pulled the blanket higher, wishing the wooden headboard wasn’t so cold against his back. His teeth wanted to chatter. He bit the inside of his lip, riding it out, waiting for the spasm to pass. It did, after a long, aching moment. 

“What can I do for you?” she asked. 

“Stay?” he asked, knowing that if he’d been well, the word wouldn’t have ever crossed his lips. _Don’t let anyone too close, because they’ll either betray you or get hurt. Don’t get attached, because when you fuck up again, it won’t matter. You can just drop everything and go, and no-one will be there to give a damn._ He'd broken all of his own rules lately, and he couldn't find it in himself to care. 

She kicked her boots off and settled in next to him, shoulder against the headboard. “For as long as you’ll have me,” she answered, beating down the panic that train of thought raised in her. _I won’t go back there. I’ll throw myself into the grey room before I let them drag me back._

He shifted and something brushed the inside of her wrist. She looked down, seeing one of his hands resting there, fingers curled gently against her skin. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he murmured, voice thick and heavy with sleep.

“Yeah, me too.” She flipped the blanket over her jean clad legs and eyed the sleeping man next to her. “I’m sorry about a lot of things, John.” She sighed. “But I guess you’ll find that out soon enough.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chas eased the bedroom door open and poked his head inside, not at all surprised to see the man on the bed tossing and turning. _Well, he never sleeps peacefully, but this is bad, even for him. I should wake him up,_ he thought, but hesitated. _He needs all the rest that he can get, but I’m not sure you can call that rest._

The other man lay in a tangle of bedding, one long leg trapped inside a curl of the sheet. One of his arms was thrown across his face, hand clenched into a fist. The other was caught somewhere below the pillow. Chas frowned at him, the low light more than enough to show just what hosting the demon had cost. There were hollows between the blond man’s ribs. His trousers hung on his hips, twisted around from the man’s thrashing. 

_I should wake him up,_ Chas thought and started for the bed.

John took the question out of Chas’ hands, waking up with a strangled cry that could have been someone’s name. 

“Easy, John.” Chas laid a hand on the blond man’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

John passed a shaking hand over his face, scrubbing away the salty trails there even though he knew Chas wouldn’t judge him for them. Christ knows, they’d been through enough together for a few tears to pass unremarked. 

“Newcastle?” Chas tossed a bottle of water on the bed. 

“Bloody Newcastle.” John picked up the bottle and toyed with it. “I’d burn the fucking place to the ground if I could.” The memories were always there, creeping through his mind. He thought they were it, thought that he remembered everything clearly until his defences were down and the full horror came roaring back. Then he realised he barely remembered a thing, just a night so dreadful, it had left a scar on him that would never fade. 

“I’d be right there with you, if you wanted to try,” Chas said, and decided a change of topic would be a good idea. “There’s food in the kitchen if you feel like eating.”

“Probably all just come straight back up,” John said, and dragged his hand through his hair. His stomach was churning, but he was pretty damn sure that it wasn’t from hunger. 

“It’s there if you want it,” Chas said and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind himself with a click. 

_Christ, I stink,_ John thought. His body felt grubby and itchy, coated in God knows what and topped off with a layer of sweat. He stripped his trousers and boxers off, stumbling into the attached bathroom without falling on his arse. There were fluffy towels on the vanity unit already. _Bloody pink towels. What next?_ He thought, lip curled in mild disgust. _Pink undies? Flowers all over the place?_

The shower was an over the bath monstrosity and for a minute, he didn’t think he was going to make it over the side of the tub. His strength lasted just long enough and he landed in a heap. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered and hauled himself to his feet, turning the water on with a vicious twist. It gushed out, hot enough to sting but he didn’t move, just embraced the heat. The feel of it against his skin was _his_ , and he needed that right now. There were flashes of memories in his head that didn’t feel like they belonged to him. _What if that bloody bastard left part of itself in me?_ His stomach rolled at the thought, so he turned it aside and concentrated on getting washed. 

There was body wash on the side of the tub. He picked it up and dumped a bit onto a washcloth, scrubbing his skin. The body wash was mildly scented, spicy rather than floral and he was grateful for that. He’d picked Zed’s jasmine and sandalwood soap by accident once, and she had teased him over it for days. He grabbed her shampoo though and used it to scrub his hair. 

_Christ almighty,_ he thought as he caught sight of his back in the mirror. Scrapes and bruises covered his skin. Somewhere along the line, one of the thugs he’d fought had gotten a nasty blow in just over his kidney, leaving a bruise spreading over the bottom of his back. It ached, dully. He rinsed off and climbed out of the tub, grabbing a pink towel as he ambled over to the toilet, not the least bit surprised when he pissed blood. 

He wrapped the towel around his hips and headed back into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway when he realised someone had been in and stripped the bed while he was in the bathroom. The fresh linen beckoned him, but he turned his back on it, fishing a pair of trousers and a shirt out of his wardrobe. A pair of boxers and ten minutes later and he was dressed, heading towards the kitchen for no reason he could name. 

He was hungry, but the thought of food wasn’t what drove him. The voices he could hear from the room were. Having friends again was strange to him, after spending so long closing everyone off. Shutting people out. It was taking him time to adjust to the idea, to the concept of trusting people. He paused in the doorway, just watching as Chas and Zed move around each other. A pot of something bubbled on the stove and the scent of freshly baked bread hung in the air. 

_I don’t deserve this,_ he thought and started to back away. _Stick with me, kids, and we’ll see how long it takes me to bloody ruin your lives, too._ A floorboard creaked under his foot, and he glanced down, scowling at the noisy bit of wood.

Zed spotted him. “John!” she called and hurried over. “We’re just about to eat. I was going to bring you a bowl. Do you want to join us?”

He met Chas’ eyes. The other man gave him a nod. “You should eat, John.” 

Zed took his arm and tugged him forward. Reluctantly, he let her draw him into the warmth, into the light. _I don't deserve this,_ he thought but followed her anyway. There's a part of him that wants this- needs it- and he doens't know if it's the fallout from the demon or the drugs but he finds he's too tired to keep fighting it any longer. _A few minute's grace can't hurt,_ he thought, knowing he'd already lost the battle. Knowing these people were here to stay, no matter how much he protested. He couldn't deny the fact that it felt good, being part of a family again.


	3. Chapter 3

They settled around the table. Chas set a bowl down in front of Zed, then John before taking his own seat. John toyed with his spoon, hands in constant motion. Zed rested her elbow on the table, propping her head up, exhausted now that the crisis was over. She rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand, trying to ease the headache that had taken permanent residence in her skull. 

“I made chicken noodle soup,” Zed told him and nudged the plate of thickly sliced bread his way. “It always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”

The nausea had given way to grudging hunger. John grabbed a slice of bread and dipped it into the soup, getting the first mouthful down without really tasting it. The warmth eased the ache in his gut and he applied himself. “Do we have a case?” he asked between bites. 

Chas exchanged a look with Zed. “Told you. You owe me twenty bucks.” He extended a hand to her. “Pay up.”

Grumbling, she dug in her jeans pocket and pulled out a tattered twenty, dropping it into Chas’ hand. “I should have known better.”

John felt the ghost of a grin on his lips. It felt strange there, but welcome. “Never bet against Chas, love. He always wins.”

“It took you long enough to cotton on,” Chas said and stood, crossing the room to get the map. 

John scowled at him, then shook his head and ate another mouthful of soup. 

“John?” Zed sipped her drink. Her headache had started to ease off, finally. She couldn’t decide if the relief was from the soup or the aspirin she’d taken before sitting down. “More soup?”

“It’s good.” He nodded absently. “Family recipe?” he asked, and pretended not to see the startled, almost guilty look she threw him. 

“N… no.” She shook her head. “Just something I learned how to make, along the way.”

“Really? I thought these sorts of things were passed down, mother to daughter, through the ages.” He tore a chunk of bread and chewed it slowly. He was pushing, maybe too hard, and he knew that, but there was a part of him that knew- knew- that whatever her secret was, it was going to turn around and bite them, sooner rather than later. 

“Did your mother teach you how to cook?” She refilled the bowl, setting it down a shade harder than necessary. 

_No, my mother died giving birth to me and my father… well, the only cooking he did was heating the…_ John shut the thought down hard, before it could dredge up bad memories. “Where I come from, boys don’t cook. The closest I got to cooking was bringing chips home from the fish shop.” He paused, tilting his head. “And even then, I got a thick ear from my sister because they were cold and I’d pinched half of them.”

Chas laughed. After a strained second, Zed joined in. 

“So, what did you find?” John asked.

Zed cleared space so Chas could spread the map out. “Here. Wellston, Michigan.” He pointed at the mark on the map. 

John studied it, then grunted assent. “What’s in Wellston?” John finished the last of his soup and pushed the bowl away. “It’s the arse end of nowhere.”

“This,” Zed said and handed over a sheaf of drawings. 

“The locals are calling it bear attacks, but that’s no bear. I found one of the coroner’s reports, and it said that one body was eaten down to the bare bones, and even some of those were missing.” Chas set a neat stack of printed pages in front of John. “Six people have gone missing so far.”

John leafed through the drawings, stopping on one. It was a full length portrait of the creature, showing thin, elongated limbs and a wide, gaping mouth set in a face so gaunt that the skin was drawn directly over the bone. Tattered clothes clung to its body. The rest of it was covered in dense, course fur the colour of mud. Human bones littered the floor under its feet. 

“What is it?” Zed asked. The drawings un-nerved her. Even after all she’s seen- all she’d learned, it creeped her out to think there were creatures like that roaming the earth. 

“It’s a bloody Wendigo.” He put the drawing down and picked another up. “Legend says that they’re the twisted sprit of a person lost in the woods, starving until they turn to cannibalism. Lost in the winter cold until they turn into a supernatural being that craves human flesh and will stop at nothing to get it. Any sane person would run screaming.”

Zed and Chas looked at each other. “When do we leave?”


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark when they pulled into the motel car park. It wasn’t much, just a couple of rustic cabins set around a pond, but the rates had been cheap and it backed onto the forest- prime Wendigo hunting ground. The town it was in wasn’t much either, barely more than a spot on the map. It had a small main street, and a single traffic light. John got the impression of a place left to go gently to seed, and looking at the motel wasn’t doing much to change that. 

“I’ll go and get the keys,” Chas said and slipped out of the truck, glad of a chance to stretch his legs. The drive had been long, and dull, with long stretches of nothing but trees broken up by the occasional small town or river crossing. 

John was content to stay where he was. He’d stiffened up enough on the drive that he knew moving wasn’t going to be fun. His back ached dully where he’d been kicked, and there was a catch in his shoulder that hadn’t been there before the demon had taken over him. 

“Zed!” He nudged the woman sleeping against him. There was a damp patch on his arm that he was pretty sure was drool. “We’re here, wake up.” He nudged her again. 

She woke with a start, jerking away from him like he’d burned her. “Don’t!” she cried, one hand coming up to fend him off. 

He stayed still and just watched as she slowly got her wits about her. “Don’t?” 

“I was dreaming,” she muttered defensively, scrubbing her hands over her face. “I don’t remember what.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“At the motel. Chas went to get the keys.” John stretched carefully, wincing when his spine cracked. 

Chas came back to the truck, a pair of silver keys in one hand. “We’re in the left cabin. Owner said he kicked the propane heater on for us earlier, so it should be warm. They’re expecting snow.”

John swung out of the truck, clenching his teeth on a groan as his abused body protested the movement. Zed followed him with slightly more grace. They grabbed their bags and followed Chas towards the cabin. 

Inside was well decorated, with pale yellow walls and freshly waxed wood on the floor. Thick area rugs dotted the living space. The furniture was simple, but well maintained. John dropped his bag onto an oak side table and stripped his coat off, moving about to ease his cramped muscles. He opened a door and peered inside, finding a well-appointed bathroom. Three more doors led off the main space. Each led into a bedroom.

An animal screamed outside. All of them jumped, a little. Zed eyed the large window. “Are we safe here?”

“Staying in town would have been safer, but there have been no missing people reported in this area. Wendigos tend to stick to where they know… we should be pretty safe,” John said while rooting in his bag for something. He pulled out a large lump of chalk and a small book. “Time to wendigo proof this place.”

“What’s that?” 

John juggled the chalk. “It’s just chalk, but it was specially blessed by a Potawatomi medicine man. Nice bloke. Gave me this, too.” He held up the book, then flipped it open as he walked towards the door. Then surface of the door was slick and glossy, and the chalk didn’t want to stick. He kept trying, finally managing to make a near perfect circle on the painted wood. He added lines coming from it at the top and bottom, then from the sides. 

“The family of one of the missing people lives in town.” Chas picked up one of the bags and carried it towards the small kitchenette tucked away in the back corner. “Found the address. I figure we can pay them a visit in the morning.” He unpacked groceries as he talked, putting away sandwich fixings and other staples.

John knelt and drew a thick line of chalk in front of the door, making sure it went wall to wall. He studied it, then added a bit more chalk, moving on to the large picture window. 

Zed watched him. “If you think we’re safe, why are you doing this?”

He finished the line and settled the curtains back into place. “Because I have no earthly desire to spend the last few moments of my life trapped in a cabin with a hungry wendigo.”

“What can I do to help?”

He broke the chalk in half and handed her part. “Start on the widows in the back.”

She took the chalk and examined it, turning it over in her hands. “Okay.”

With her help, it didn’t take long to magically barricade all of the windows. Despite what John had said about it being safe, he wasn’t so sure. The cabin backed right onto the woods, and they were thick and deep. _The wendigo could be watching us right now, and we’d never know it._ He started to put the chalk back into his bag, then reconsidered and crossed to the bathroom door, laying down a thick line in front of that. He did the same for the bedroom doors, feeling Zed's eyes on him as he straightened, dusting his hands off. 

“You think it’ll get in?” She handed him the other half of the chalk. “You don’t think we’re safe?”

“I think I’m a city boy, love, and these woods would creep me out even without a wendigo in them.”

“It’s a forest, John,” Chas corrected mildly, and held up the coffee pot. 

Both Zed and John shook their heads. Chas shrugged and put the coffee on to brew anyway. 

“It’s a lot of bloody trees, that’s what it is.” John crossed to the neat mini-bar and riffled through it until he found a bottle of club soda. He popped the lid and took a swig, hoping that it would settle his queasy stomach. The cold liquid hit hard, and for a second, he thought that he was going to have to make a dash for the bathroom. 

“Will we have to go into the forest after this thing?” Zed asked as she mixed milk and chocolate syrup in a thick green mug. She slid it into the microwave and turned, leaning her back on the counter. 

Something moved outside of the window, and she turned her head, trying to figure out what she’d seen. A few branches moved in the fitful wind, but her mind’s eye held the impression of something large, and pale. The branches didn’t fit that.

Chas caught her looking. “What?” he asked, heading over to lock the door. “Just in case there’s a not so mystical beastie out there.”

Something slammed into the other side of the door hard enough to make the thick wood jump in its frame. 

“Don’t break the chalk!” John called, his bottle falling un-noticed from his hand to hit the floor. 

“Trying not to!” Chas called back. He slid away from the door, hands clenching with the need to do something- anything. 

The creature slammed into the door again. The door groaned under the attack but stayed locked. 

Zed caught a flash of motion going past the window in the kitchenette, getting the impression of something tall and impossible thin. She eased over and yanked the curtains closed, silencing the microwave just before it went ping. “John! What do we do?”

He closed the curtains over the picture window, rechecking the chalk line there. “We stay put, love. It’s bloody trying to drive us outside. If we’re in here, it can’t get to us.” He grinned, but it was a sickly shadow of his usual smile. “Must be driving it fucking crazy.”

“I thought you said it didn’t hunt in this area!” she snapped. 

“I said no-one had been reported missing in this area.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Winter’s coming… it’s looking to eat its fill and hibernate… I’m not sure there is anywhere safe in these woods.”

Claws raked along the side of the cabin. Zed jumped and then bolted, almost crashing into Chas as she got away from the sound. He steadied her, one hand giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. 

“So we’re trapped until that thing gets bored and goes away?” 

“Oh, it won’t get bored, love.” John rummaged in his bag, taking out three silver coated knives and handing them out. He watched the expression on Zed's face change and smiled to himself. _Glad that I guessed right._ “Wendigos have been known to hunt their prey for days at a time, stalking them.”

“So what do we do?” She looked at the knife. “I don’t think going out there with this will do any good.”

“It won’t,” Chas said. “We wait. The sunrise will drive it away.” 

“Great,” she muttered, with a sigh. “Tell me things can’t get any worse,” she finished, just as the screaming started.


	5. Chapter 5

The noise filled John's head, almost driving him to his knees. The knife dropped from his hand to bounce on the floor. It was every cliché he’d ever heard- nails on a chalkboard, the dentist’s drill, a shrieking jet engine and yet none of those things even came close to describing how piercing and purely awful the noise was. It had weight, not physical, but psychic, pressing down on him, smothering his other senses. 

It made him want to reach inside his skull and rip bits out until it stopped. Made him want to run, to flee, but the rational part of his brain- the part not screaming _dear God, just please make it stop!_ Knew that running was what the wendigo wanted. It couldn’t get in, so it was trying to drive them outside. 

And then the noise changed, turned into something worse. His own voice, screaming a name already seared onto his soul. A name that carried more guilt and shame than one person should ever have to carry alone. Astrid, the wendigo crooned over and over and over. 

Only years of working magic stopped John from bolting out of the door. He knew what would happen if he stepped foot outside of the cabin, and yet the animal part of his brain was wailing at him to run. A snarl crossed his lips, one born of pure grit and determination. _Fuck off, you bloody ugly bastard,_ he thought and clamped his hands over his ears. It helped, a little. 

He crossed over to his bag, perched on the side table at the other side of the room. Crossing the space felt like he was walking under water, with concrete boots on. It was hard to move against the noise, every step a battle of wills with the monster outside. He reached the table, wrapping one hand around the bag’s handle and dropping to his knees. The bag overturned, spilling everything on the floor in front of him. He rummaged through the mess, searching for the pack of wax earplugs he’d packed. 

The bright yellow wrapper caught his eye and he snatched them up, fitting a pair to his own ears with a shaking hand. He crawled over to Zed, knocking the knife out of the way so he could reach her. 

She was on the floor, arms wrapped around her head, but she looked up when he touched her arm. Her eyes were wet, and he wondered what she’d been hearing. _It makes us hear our worst nightmares. Wonder what hers is? They already bloody know mine._ He held the packet up, and she snatched them from him, fumbling with the plugs until she got them in place. 

Chas was in the kitchenette, one hand clenched around his knife so hard his knuckles showed through white. The other was braced against the wall. His head was bowed and his lips were moving. John couldn’t make out what he was saying over the name echoing through his brain. 

The taller man fitted the earplugs quickly, nodding his thanks. He picked the knife up from the kitchen counter, pacing up and down just so he wouldn’t run. The idea of standing still was abhorrent- he didn’t think he could manage it for longer than the time it took to turn around. He had to move. The screaming inside his head was driving him to it. 

“It’s getting cold!” Zed mouthed and rubbed her arms. She grabbed her coat and slipped it on, zipping it with a sense of relief. 

It was freezing, John realised with a start. Every breath clouded on the air. He crossed to the window and peeked out, having to blink a couple of times before what he was looking at even started to make sense. Thick white snowflakes, the size of dollars, lashed at the window. The flakes scraped at the glass like they were sharp edged. They came down so heavily and so fast, they looked a blanket, hanging just outside of the glass.

The screaming stopped suddenly, leaving a silence behind that felt almost unnatural. 

“It hasn’t left,” Zed said, voice a little off because of the ear plugs. “It’s still out there.” She could feel it, could almost track it as it prowled around the cabin. 

John nodded. The sense of psychic oppression hadn’t shifted an inch. In fact, it seemed to be getting heavier. _Ah, shit,_ he thought, and stepped back from the window just as a face slammed into it. It was impossibly gaunt, with sunken cheeks covered by harsh, shrunken skin. What hair it had was pale and wiry. It had a large, flattened nose that reminded John irresistibly of a pig’s snout. 

Their eyes met for a second and John shuddered, ice chilling him to the core. “Don’t look at it!” he ground out. The wendigo laughed at them - a terribly human sound- and vanished back into the snow. 

His chest hurt. Drawing in air was like breathing in a lung full of needles. He coughed and tasted blood. He was shivering and couldn’t stop, even when he wrapped his arms around himself. The cold was inside of him, and it was eating him alive.

Zed watched him, eyes wide. He shook his head and lifted a shaking arm, pointing at the window. She pressed her lips together and turned away, carefully checking the chalk line before tucking the curtain back into place. 

Chas caught hold of John's elbow as the shorter man started to list to one side. Zed reached John's other side, grabbing hold of him too. _We just did this,_ she thought. _Not again. I can’t watch him dying again. I can’t._ “He’s freezing!” she said out loud. 

They moved towards the large leather couch as a unit, with John sagging between them. He caught Zed's eye and gave her a bare wink and the best smile he could muster, which wasn’t much. 

The sofa’s frame groaned a complaint as they collapsed on it as a group. John coughed again and rubbed his chest. His bare skin was tinged blue. Chas dragged the throw off the back of the couch and wrapped it around his friend. 

“Need to stay awake,” John managed to say. _If I fall asleep like this, I’ll never wake up. Though I suppose that’d be a blessing if that bloody thing out there was going to eat me alive._ “Need to get warm!” 

Zed scrambled to her feet, heading for the microwave. She couldn’t help shooting a few nervous glances at the window as she went, half expecting to see that face peering at them again. Just the thought of it gave her a chill. She pulled her hot chocolate from the machine, taking a mouthful and finding it still hot.   
John was curled up in the space she’d left, blue tipped fingers clutching the blanket under his chin. Chas had part of the blanket over his own chest, sharing body heat as best he could, given the cramped conditions. 

There was no good way for John to drink the chocolate, and it was the warmest thing in the room. 

“Can you sit up?” Zed asked, starting to kneel. 

He tried, got one arm outside of the blanket and pushed up with the strength he had left. He made it half way and his elbow gave way, almost sending him crashing to the floor. Chas grabbed his shoulder just in time and hauled him upright, bracing John against his side. 

Cold flowed off the blond man in waves. Zed settled at his other side, draping the blanket over them all as best she could. She lifted the cup to John's lips, seeing something flash through his eyes as he took a mouthful. It vanished too quickly for her to identify what she’d seen. He got the first mouthful down, and a second before the cold coming from him started to recede. 

He was shivering. Chas could feel the movement against his side. Shivering was good, much better than the freezing tension that had been there before. He dropped a hand to John's wrist and felt the other man’s pulse, feeling it stutter against his fingertips. _Hypothermia. It gave him hypothermia with a look. What the hell are we up against?_

John got a hand outside of the blanket and claimed the cup from Zed. The warmth felt good against his chilled fingers. “Did you put any chocolate in this, or is it just sugar?” he mumbled, and swallowed another mouthful. The pain in his chest had started to fade, but it had brought back the full body ache that had plagued him for days. 

_Saw into its mind there for a second, didn’t you, John? Felt the void it’s trying to fill? On balance, I’d rather face a bloody demon than that thing. At least you know where you stand with a demon._ he thought to himself. Pain tore through his body suddenly, wrenching a strangled cry from his throat. The cup fell from his slack fingers to shatter on the floor as every muscle in his body clenched and he seized.


	6. Chapter 6

The seizure didn’t last long. By the time Zed realised what was happening and got her hands on John, the worst of it had passed, leaving the blonde man limp and dazed between her and Chas. He was soaked in sweat, chilly against his skin. Some colour had started to come back into his face, but it wasn’t much. 

“John?” Chas put a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder. It heaved under his touch a John dragged in a deep breath, then another. His collarbone dug into Chas' palm. “John, talk to me,” Cha urged. The brown haired man had his eyes fixed anxiously on John's face, watching for any signs of response. 

He blinked, face slowly taking on tension as he came round. The shoulder under Chas' hand jumped. 

“What just happened?” Zed asked. She had one hand tangled in the blanket, the other resting on John's upper arm. All three of them were shaking. Her hair was in wild disarray, tangled and falling into her face. She sniffed hard. 

“I don’t bloody know,” John said, in a voice so hoarse it made Zed wince. “It tried…” he shook his head carefully and let the through trail off. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what the wendigo was trying to do by shuffling through his memories like a pack of cards. _All I know is that it hurt like a son of a bitch and that bastard didn’t get what it wanted._ He took cold comfort from that.

They all jumped as claws raked the side of the cabin. A window smashed in one of the bedrooms and the creature screamed in outrage. “Guess someone can’t get in,” Chas muttered, but his voice was strained. 

The patch of sky John could see through the gap in the curtains has started to turn pink. He kept his eyes on it, ignoring the wendigo’s impotent raging until the sky slid from pink to orange to the chilly blue of morning. 

With one last scream, the wendigo melted back into the forest. “It’s gone,” Zed said. The pressure of the creature against her other senses had vanished, leaving them feeling raw and overly sensitive. 

“First time I’ve been glad to see a bloody sunrise,” John muttered, and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes. He was warm and comfortable and didn’t feel like moving an inch, but he was starving and in dire need of a few minutes alone to gather his severely shaken wits. He pushed the blanket back and stumbled to his feet, somehow managing to evade both sets of hands reaching to help him. “Don’t worry, it only hurts when I breathe.”

He made it to the bedroom where the window had smashed and pushed open the door, poking his head in. “Bloody hell!” 

Zed got to his side a second before Chas. She muttered a curse, gingerly walking into the room. John grabbed her arm before she could go more than two steps. “Wait, love.”

“I though you said the wendigo left at sunrise?” She poked a bit of shattered wood with the toe of her boot. It rocked under her foot. “The wendigo did all of this?”

“I’m just glad there was no-one in here last night,” Chas said. 

The top of the window frame had been demolished, leaving a gaping hole in its place. Somehow, the chalk line had held. _That saved our lives,_ John thought. Snow drifted in, lazy on the wind. It had already started to drift against the wall. 

“It did, love, but that’s not what I’m worried about.” John peered at the celling. It looked like it was hanging by a thread in places. “Whole place looks like it’s about fall down.”

She stepped back, bumping into Chas. A chunk of plaster the size of her fist dropped from the ceiling and landed a bare foot away from her with a thud. They all scrambled back into the main room. Chas closed the door firmly behind them. “Well, I don’t think we’re getting our deposit back.”

“How are we going to stop this thing, John?” Zed asked. She toyed with a bracelet, pale in the morning light. 

“By being cleverer than it, love,” John said and leaned against the wall. His shaking legs didn’t feel like they would hold him for much longer. “Anyone for breakfast?” He didn’t wait for them to answer, just grabbed a fresh set of clothes and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door with a grunt of relief. 

_I know they mean well, but I’m not sure they know what they’re risking, being close to me._ He eyed himself in the mirror, finding sickly pale skin and circles under his eyes dark enough to pass for bruises. _Not one of my better looks,_ he thought and filled the sink, stripping down to his boxers. He washed and dressed as quickly as he could, having to rest on the side of the bath part way though. 

Zed had laid her toiletries out. He rifled through them until he found a blister pack of painkillers, and washed two down with a gulp of water from the sink. It was cold enough to give him stomach ache. He knocked over a bottle of perfume. _Bloody woman has more lotions and potions than Chas and me combined, and I’m including the magical ones in that, too._ He stood the bottle back up, deliberately keeping his eyes away from the mirror as he turned and went back out into the main room. 

“All yours,” he said and tucked his dirty clothes into his overnight bag, dropping down onto the couch with a sigh. 

Zed darted into the bathroom before Chas could move. The man watched until the door closed, then came to sit next to John on the couch. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked. “That thing could kill you… could kill all of us. Are you sure you want to take it on?”

“It’s killing people, Chas.” John rubbed his forehead. “And I’m here and I can stop it. I can’t just bloody walk away.”

“Then we need a plan.” Chas looked around. “And we can’t stay here again tonight.”

One of them had opened the curtains while John had been in the bathroom. He glanced at the window, spotting parts of the siding hanging down over the glass. “We need to find out where its lair is. What was the name of that woman in town?”

“The one who lost her bother to that thing?” Chas stretched and grabbed the case file from his duffle. “Kathleen Hale. Her brother was called Thomas. Went missing in the woods with a group of his friends. The local game warden found the remains about a month after.”

Zed emerged from the bathroom. John managed a sickly grin in her direction. “Ready to go and see a woman about a wendigo, love?”


	7. Chapter 7

The cabin looked like a tornado had rolled directly over it. The hardwood siding was covered in huge gouges. Some of them had gone through the wood, exposing the framework underneath. The broken bits were scattered all over, some of them almost as far away as the other cabin. Snow had drifted against the building, piling up to just below the window frames. Behind them, the forest was silent. The snow was littered with footprints the length of his arm, show where the wendigo had circled the cabin. 

Chas crunched through the snow to the truck with a borrowed shovel in his hand. John paused in the doorway to fasten his coat against the biting cold. “Don’t suppose you have a spell for snow removal, do you, John?”

John frowned as he thought about it. _Well, there’s that Sumatran spell for fire that would clear this lot right up… and probably take the cabin, the truck and half the woods with it. Might get rid of the wendigo at the same time though…_ “Well, there’s this one spell that would work…” he started and stepped off the pouch. Snow filled his shoes, soaking his socks and trousers. Something caught his eye and he headed towards it.

Chas scraped snow away from the truck. “The Sumatran one?”

“That’s the one.” John bent and examined a clump of wiry hair, tangled around a splinter of wood the thickness of his wrist. It was as pale as the snow, but dull, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. 

“I think the old fashioned way’s safer, don’t you?” Chas moved another shovelful of snow. “Tell me, are you allowed back into Harrogate yet?”

“I really doubt it.” John twisted and let the sunlight hit the hair. It curled up on itself, turning black, then vanished in a poof of foul smelling smoke that made John cough.

Zed stepped outside, coat firmly fastened. She dug a pair of sheepskin gloves out of her pocket and slipped them on. “It stinks like rotten meat out here.” 

“Hair from the wendigo. It reacted to the sunlight.” John stood and headed back to the cabin, intending to grab another shovel and help Chas free the truck. Halfway there, he stopped, turning towards the silent forest as his senses prickled hard.

“John…” Zed whispered, hands clenched around the porch rail. 

He turned, the utter dread sitting in his gut making his movements slow and precise. It took a long second to spot the creature, and when he did, he wished he hadn’t. It didn’t look any better in the daylight. 

The wendigo crouched in a thick stand of pine trees. The branches protected it from the sunlight. As John watched, it raised its head, sniffing the air and let out a scream that made all of them flinch. 

Zed felt in her pocket, fumbling a compact out. There was a mirror in the lid. It reacted to the sunlight, she thought and flipped the compact open, angling it to catch the sun and send it straight into the wendigo’s face. The creature screamed and bolted, back into the forest, fleeing from the pain. It smashed into a sapling, smashing the tree to bits as it righted itself and kept running. 

She heaved a sigh of relief and crossed to John's side, surprised when he slid and arm over her shoulder and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well done, love.”

He let his arm drop and headed to the porch, leaving her speechless behind him. 

“That was some real quick thinking, Zed.” Chas said. “How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t.” She shrugged, glad that her cheeks were already pink from the cold. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.” She could still feel his lips against her skin, the praise all the sweeter because she hadn’t expected it at all. _Well, it’s not like I come from a family that that thinks girls being smart is a good thing._

John came back with another two shovels. With the three of them working, it didn’t take long to get the truck free. 

“I hate snow,” John groused as he climbed in the truck. His shoes and trousers were soaked through, clinging to his legs. 

“I love snow!” Zed countered as she climbed into the driver’s seat. Chas settled in the back. 

“Get a lot of it, where you grew up?” John asked. 

She shrugged. “Some. How about you?”

Chas chuckled dryly. “Don’t get him started, Zed.”

“We get a bit,” John said and shifted in his seat to grin at Chas. “Though the whole city shuts down it we get more than half an inch. They even closed the airport, last time I was there. All because of half a bloody inch of snow.”

Zed eased the car out onto the main road, heading back into town. 

“We got stuck sleeping on those stupid airport benches for two days.” Chas shook his head. “I don’t think my spine ever really recovered.” 

It had been a tense couple of days for both of them. Chas just wanted to get back to his family, and John… John wanted to get as far away from his as he could. He’d prowled the airport for two days, then crashed as soon as he got on the plane and spent the entire flight asleep. Chas hadn’t been so lucky, spending the flight awake, with his knees crunched up against the seat in front of him. Arriving back home had been like a gift, and he could still feel the sweetness of it.

John reached over and cranked the heater as high as it would go. He still felt cold inside, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the weather, or if it was a lingering affect from the wendigo’s touch. _I still can’t make head nor tail of that. What did it bloody well want?_ He thought.

“Where are we going?” Zed asked as they hit the outskirts of town. 

Chas leant forwards to give her directions. She followed them, parking the car outside of a long, low house with blue siding. The drive had been recently cleared of snow. A black Suburban sat in the middle of the cleared space. Dust and muck splattered its sides. 

“It looks like someone’s home,” John said and climbed out of the truck, hanging on for a second when his feet threatened to go out from under him on the icy road. He got his balance and crossed the road, heading towards the house. Zed and Chas followed him. 

John knocked on the door, and stepped back, jamming his hands into his pockets as he waited. Ten or twenty seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a petite, slim woman dressed in a sheriff’s uniform. She took one look at them and stepped back, inviting them in. “You’re here about the wendigo, aren’t you?”


	8. Chapter 8

A wall of warmth hit them as soon as they stepped foot inside of the house. It felt great after the icy wind outside. She closed the door behind them and slid the deadbolt home. John paused to study the symbols carved into the hardwood. He traced his fingers over a crudely drawn eye of Horus. The same hand had carved a Seal of Solomon. There were protection runes scattered all over the wood, all carved deep and gone over many times. The lock was heavy duty, too. 

_Someone who lives in this house is terrified of something getting in,_ John thought as they walked through to the living room. “What did you mean, about the wendigo?” he asked as he took a seat. “I’m John Constantine. This is Chas, and Zed.” 

“Please to meet you, Kathleen,” Chas offered his hand with a smile. 

The room was bigger than he’d expected, and tastefully furnished. It held a large dining table at one end, with chairs for six people. The other had two large sofas and an overstuffed chair in a shade that probably had some fancy name like Tropical Sea or Moonlight Bay but just looked blue to John. Boxes stood along the wall, all packed with belongings. Zed counted twenty of them before she stopped. The shelves on the wall had a distinctly emptied look. 

“Are you moving?” she asked the other woman. 

Kathleen shrugged. “There’s nothing to hold me here now. I wanted to leave, years ago, but my brother liked it here.” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name, not yet. The wound of his loss was still too raw. Saying his name was only poking at the scab. She touched the handgun on her belt before she sat down. “Please, sit.” She gestured at the couches. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

John took the seat closest to her, with Zed at his side. Chas stayed standing, but moved over to the back wall, giving them space. He was too wired to sit. Demons he could cope with, but wendigoes… wendigoes were another thing altogether. 

“Not at all, love.” John leant forward, towards her. “Just tell us what you know.”

“I was driving back for Manistee. We’d been to pick up some things. It was late, and I was tired. I hit a patch of ice and lost control. The truck went off the road in into the forest.” She rubbed a hand over her mouth. “I thought we’d be okay. There wasn’t much damage, and I’d called for help.” Again, she stopped, standing up and walking over to the window. 

Zed leaned forward. “It’s not your fault.”

“I insisted we had to drive back that night. If I’d just listened to him, maybe he would still be here.”

“What happened, once the truck went off the road?”

“We were stranded. I broke out the blankets and we settled down to wiat.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Maybe we even fell asleep, because it was bitterly cold all of a sudden… and I could smell something real bad.”

“Rotten meat?” Chas asked. 

Kathleen nodded. “Yeah, only I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. It was so cold that nothing would rot. Then the trees started moving, and I knew something horrible was coming for us. I tried to get the truck back onto the road, but it was hooked on a log. All of the time, he was freaking out because he hated the forest. It smashed the truck up and took him.” She shook her head angrily and swiped at her face. 

Zed stood and offered the other woman a tissue, putting a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am. I emptied my gun into that thing and it didn’t even slow down. I tried to get to the shotgun in the back but my leg was trapped and I couldn’t reach it. Every time I close my eyes, all I can hear is him screaming as that thing dragged him away.” She balled the tissue up, her knuckles standing out white against her skin. “He was my baby brother. I was meant to look out for him.”

John stood, pacing the room as he thought. “Did the wendigo try to take you?” He stopped by one of the boxes and glanced inside. Textbooks faced him.   
Kathleen shook her head. “No. It was only interested in him. Why?”

“Normally, they don’t just take one person from a group. If you’re out there, and it catches you, you’re food.”

Kathleen shuddered.

“Maybe she wounded it?” Chas offered. “Could be she got in a lucky shot, scared if off.”

“Without fire, or silver?” John lifted an eyebrow. “It’s not likely.”

“Why did it just take my brother?”

Zed shifted, a pensive look falling over her face. “Kathleen, was your brother troubled?”

The other woman looked down, rubbing her hands together. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “He was into drugs and drink. He went on a bender a while ago and ended up in the hospital. What made you ask that?”

Zed shrugged, a little. “Just a gut feeling.” She’d just known it was true, like she knew rain was wet or the sky blue. The fact was just there, in her mind, waiting for her to use it. 

“Can you show us where you saw the wendigo?” John asked. “If we can track the bloody thing, find out where’s it’s hunting, we can kill it.”

He plucked his lighter out of his pocket and turned it between his fingers. _Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?_ He thought. _Zed's the psychic one, not me._ And yet, there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach he’d come to associate solely with trouble. He’d felt it before, in the sewers, in the city, and it was churning away at full force. _This wendigo, it’s not acting like I expected it to. Bet I can blame the bloody rising darkness for that, too._

Zed glanced at him, a frown on her face. He gave her a lopsided smile and a shake of his head. 

_Common sense would be to leave, to get the bloody hell out of here and come back loaded for bear,_ he thought, _and yet he knew that he couldn’t just drive away and leave the town to its fate. I have to see this through._

“You want to go now?” she stared at him doubtfully. “There’s an ice storm rolling our way. It’ll hit in a couple of hours. It’s not safe to go out there.”

John sat back and scrubbed a hand over his hair. “Could we get there and back before the storm hits?”

She bit her thumb nail. “Maybe, but if we get stuck out there, we’re dead.”

John blew out a frustrated breath. Something was telling him that waiting was a bad idea. He was willing to risk his own life, but not his friends. _And it’s not like I can bloody well go out there on my own. They’ll only follow me._ “How long do these storms usually last?”

“It could be a couple of hours, or all night.”

“In that case, love, do you mind if we stay here?” John asked. He didn’t relish the thought of going back to the cabin and spending another night listening to the wendigo raging outside. And I’m not sure that the walls will even hold up to another night.

 _Does that mean I don’t have to spend the night alone, and scared?_ She blinked, a quiet smile crossing her face. “Not at all.”


End file.
